


Summer

by Prosaic



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, Lazy story, Post-Series, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prosaic/pseuds/Prosaic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, he'd ended up at the lake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story written back in 2008. Archiving it here with the rest of my work.

Somehow, he’d ended up at the lake.

 

Fakir stood motionless, staring at the gentle ripples that dispersed before meeting the sands at the shoreline. Only a short while ago, he would spend every afternoon here; sitting on the dock, idly scribbling on a piece of parchment propped on his knee while Ahiru paddled around his ankles, occasionally peering up at him with a bright hopeful gaze.

But lately, with the duck-girl human again, Fakir had lost his reason to visit. (Why do it, after all, if he could now see her everyday at the academy?)

The water lapped gently at his feet; slowly tugging in and then pushing away at the thin reed leaves, both welcoming and rejecting at the same time.

He really didn’t know what possessed him to do it: the warm breeze prodding insistently at the back of his legs, the calming twitter of unseen birds, or the sun glowing golden on the water’s surface. Whatever the reason, he felt a pull towards the water.

Unceremoniously discarding his shirt, jacket, and shoes, he plunged headlong into the lake, vaguely surprised at the water’s warmth. After paddling in no particular direction for a moment or two, he stretched out onto his back, his eyes fixed on the clear blue-sky overhead.

Small waves rocked him, tall seaweed brushing his fingertips. He mused one how the scenery had changed since the last time he’d taken a swim. Back then, the small body of water had been coated with a thick fog. The tall trees had given off sinister shadows, the waters a bleak, inky gray. He had been driven into its depths by fear and desperation rather than curiosity.

A few birds soared overhead. None of them ravens.

 

Fakir lay floating for quite some time before a call from the shore caught his attention. He turned his head(as best he could without getting water in his eyes) to see a splotch of vibrant color waving from the bank. It quickly snapped into focus, revealing the very subject of his meditation. Seeing his face shifted towards her, the thin girl paused, meeting his gaze with concern creasing her brow. He righted himself, kicking on the spot for a minute or two, before gesturing for her to join him. (After all, it was her lake, really. She had more of a right to enjoy it.)

Ahiru looked puzzled, and only after he signaled her again did she almost reluctantly begin undressing. He watched her lazily, waiting until she’d stripped off her uniform. Finished, she looked up, blushing, before hastily running for the water, perhaps to hide her unguarded form from his gaze.

She swam toward him with surprising speed; but then again, Fakir didn’t know why he found it surprising, she was a duck after all. She reached him in a matter of seconds, treading water just in front of him.

He paused then, before moving to her side. Reaching out, he nudging the center of her back until, with a small yelp of confusion, she’d tilted herself to lie on his hands, floating on the water’s surface just as he had been moments before. She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting from him to the sky and then back again.  
Fakir was immediately overcome by how truly small and thin she was, how helpless she could look, floating there one the dark waves. His grip on her back tightened.

…

A while later Fakir was out of the lake, splayed out on the thick grass that carpeted its bank. His eyes were again trained on the sky, where clouds had begun to lazily drift across the sun.

Ahiru sat on her knees next to him, running fingers through the thick, damp mass of her hair, no longer bound in the long braid she had used to wind it in nearly a year earlier. Fakir still couldn’t decide whether or not he liked the change.

She paused, shifting to face him.

“Fakir?"

"Hm."

"What are you thinking about?”

His green eyes met her large blue ones. Blue like the lake water, and just as deep.

He blinked at her question.

“Nothing.”

Her brows furrowed with noticeable uncertainty.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No. Why?”

She gnawed lightly on her lip.

“Well-I mean it’s just…you’re so quiet and…you don’t usually lie around…like this.” She gestured briefly, glanced at his chest, before meeting his eyes again. His shirt and jacket hung from a nearby tree, for he had yet to retrieve them. He felt oddly at ease resting there on the ground, half dressed. Usually he wasn’t keen on being exposed in such a way in front of other people, but today he felt...different. Besides, he was only here with Ahiru, and she was…

What was she?

The girl in question was staring at his chest again, her eyes tracing the dark, jagged lines that ran from his left shoulder to his navel. She caught him watching her, and a blush splashed across her cheeks. She tore her eyes away from him, fixing on a point far out over the water.

“Sorry.”

He paused.

“It’s okay.” If it’s you, it’s okay.

She squirmed under his gaze, her face turning an even deeper shade of red.

“Uh-Umm…are you sure you’re okay?” Her fingers fiddled with the edge of her undershirt.

Fakir was studying her. Ahiru also had yet to redress since their impromptu swim. Her clothes rested to her right, gathered in a messy pile. Her white cotton panties and undershirt clung slightly to her lithe form, still damp with lake water. The clothing hugged newly forming curves and the soft mounds at her chest, alerting him to the reality that she was, in fact, becoming a woman. She still had a ways to go, but all the same.

Ahiru was changing before his eyes. Soon she would be grown; old enough to set out on her own, find a home, marry, and raise a family, like any normal girl would. She could, if she wanted to.

He felt his back tense slightly and frowned at the clear blue ocean above him. He reached out, his fingers finding and wrapping around her wrist, and tugged her closer to him. She jumped at the action, before letting him pull her down to lie at his side, resting her head awkwardly on his shoulder. He felt something bury itself deep in his chest, but he couldn’t think of how to put it into words.

She pointed up suddenly at a cloud just overhead.

“Ah, look at that Fakir! It looks like a rose!” She sounded thrilled with her discovery.

The boy found the cloud, half smiling in spite of himself. She sounded so happy about something so simple as finding shapes in clouds. The half smile grew whole; it seemed Ahiru would always be Ahiru, no matter how much time went by. His relaxed.

“And, oh, there’s a ballerina!”

“Looks nothing like it moron.”

“Is not! It’s a ballerina! Look, there’s the edge of her tutu, her leg stretching up, that’s her hair flowing out behind, and-"

…

Ahiru was the last to leave the changing room. She was wrestling with her newly earned toe shoes, whose ribbon had knotted itself tightly around her leg. She knew she should have been paying more attention whilst tying them, but she’d been preoccupied watching the advanced class’s practice from across the room. (And more particularly, their male lead.)

She’d been worried about him lately; Fakir had become so distant, even to her, and seemed to be spending more and more time practicing in the dance studio. Then there had been the other day at the lake. She'd found him floating on his own out in the water, and after they'd come ashore he’d just laid there, staring at the sky, barely saying two words to her. Was he angry about something? Was he upset? Had she done something to make him act this way?

She groaned, worry over the older boy mixed with frustration the unyielding ribbon that only tightened further the more she pulled. She hadn’t noticed the door to the room opening, or the footsteps making their way toward her.

“Hey.”

“Gah!” She jumped, her eyes flying up to meet the face of the intruder.

Ah. Speak of the devil. Fakir stood before her--just changed himself--holding a small white paper bag.

His gaze was fixed indifferently on her feet.

“Problem?”

She flared, her cheeks puffing up.

“No! I’m just fine, thank you very much.” Then after a beat, “And what are you doing in here?! This is a girl’s dressing room.”

He scoffed, looking away.

“You’re the only one in here, I don’t see how it’s an issue.”

She glared, opening her mouth to offer a retort, when he stretched out his arm, offering the small paper bag to her.

“Here.”

She blinked, before slowly reaching out to accept it.

“You’ll be needing those.” He stated impassively.

The redhead continued to stare. Without a second glance at her, he turned on his heel, making his way to the exit. At the doorway, he paused.

“I could see just about everything.” The door clicked shut behind him.

She watched his departure, still bewildered, before directing her attention to the bag. Slowly, she reached out, pulling free a mass of white tissue paper and peering in.

Upon seeing the bags contents, the color drained from her face, before contorting into and expression of deep anger and embarrassment.

“That not funny Fakir!” she cried, her words echoing around the empty room.

Her twitching fingers clutched the strap of the top most item, a simple white cotton bra. She glared down at the offending object.

“…Pervert.” She muttered.


End file.
